


A Matter of Perspective

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Savvy's Holiday Fic [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Day 22 Prompt: New Year's Eve, From acquaintances to dating in a blink, Inspired by a twitter post, M/M, New Year's Eve, travel by train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Traveling home on New Year's Eve, Greg is delighted to discover that his seatmate is none other than Mycroft Holmes.
Relationships: Greg & Mycroft, Greg/Mycroft, Mystrade - Relationship
Series: Savvy's Holiday Fic [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558120
Comments: 37
Kudos: 229
Collections: JustMystradeThoughts Plot Bunny Adoptions, Mystrade Holiday 2019





	A Matter of Perspective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paia_Loves_Pie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paia_Loves_Pie/gifts).



The London-bound train was packed, full of individuals, couples and families returning from Christmas visits to family in the country. Greg, glad he was traveling light, hoisted his rucksack higher on his back and tried not to bump into anyone as he made his way down the corridor. Eyes on the empty seat he could spy near the middle, he didn’t notice anything about his surrounding passengers until he plopped gratefully into his seat, hugging his rucksack to his chest.

“Sorry mate,” he said with a friendly smile, trying to untangle his trainer-clad feet from those of the man across from him. He looked up, smile going from rueful and polite to delighted. “Mycroft!”

The elder of the two Holmes brothers looked up from the laptop he had perched on his knees. Greg was glad he was sitting down; Mycroft was sporting a short, wickedly groomed beard, had horn-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose, and looked positively cuddly in a pink jumper. He flushed, “Greg!”

Greg beamed at him, “I never expected to see you here. Figured you’d travel by chauffeured car.”

He chuckled, “Hardly. I’m on personal time, so I can hardly justify using a government vehicle. Besides, during the holidays I try to give my staff time with their families.”

“Softy,” Greg teased gently, delighting in the soft blush it earned him. The last few months had seen an easing of the formality that had once existed between them. He was pretty comfortable with the other man, now. “Is that where you’re coming back from? Spent the last two weeks visiting your parents?”

“Ah, no…” Mycroft wrinkled his nose. “The Holmes family functions best with limited exposure to one another. Following many years of squabbles, gnashing of teeth, rending of garments and tear-filled cocktail hours we agreed that two days maximum is all we can be expected to endure. I joined my parents for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Sherlock and John arrived Christmas Day and departed in the evening on Boxing Day.”

“Where’ve you been the last six days then?” Greg asked curiously. He pulled a bottle of water from his bag and took a sip. He paused, “If you can answer me, of course.”

Mycroft smiled a little, “I think, Greg, that you view my life as being one of glamour and intrigue, whereas the reality is much less exciting. Every year I refresh myself with a week alone in the country. There’s a delightful cottage near the farm where my grandparents lived when I was a child. I lock my work away, watch absolute drivel, sleep in, take long walks...cook for myself.” He sighed happily, “Bliss.”

Greg thought of his week and a half wrecking his back on his sister’s sleeper sofa, waking too early because his brother-in-law’s elderly dad would rise before dawn to make tea and sit in the dark, clearing his throat meaningfully until Greg finally got up with ill grace. His family was great, he adored his nieces and his nephew--in small doses. It would be pretty amazing to see them for a day or two, exchange gifts and news, eat too much and then part ways. “Blimey,” he breathed, “Can you do that? Just opt out of spending the entire holiday season with your family?”

“I don’t know about other families,” Mycroft admitted with a naughty twinkle, “But it works wonderfully for _ mine.” _

Greg sighed, “Don’t suppose there’s room enough for two in your cottage, is there?” He asked without thinking.

Mycroft blinked, “Er...it’s rather small.” Greg opened his mouth to explain he hadn’t meant it, but Mycroft continued, “The cottage is one of several, owned by the same couple, scattered along the lane.” He flushed a bit, “I’d be happy to provide you their direction, should you be interested. While I enjoy my solitude, I must say that it would be quite nice to have a congenial neighbor.” He met Greg’s eyes, a bit bashful, “You’d be welcome to join me on my walks.”

Greg had gone breathless. It almost sounded like Mycroft was actually serious. “I’d enjoy that,” he said simply. He glanced at his Chuck Taylor’s, glad Mycroft couldn’t see his toes curling inside them. Taking in courage with a deep breath, he looked up, “I’d...like to go walking with you in London, sometime. If you’d like that.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


If he’d like that. Dear Lord. Greg Lestrade was essentially asking him on a date, and he acted as if Mycroft would be doing him a kindness to agree. Looking across the small space between them at the handsome man opposite him, Mycroft couldn’t believe his luck.

What power in the universe had seen him taking a later train than was his wont? How were the stars so aligned that he should find himself on the same train as Greg, much less sitting across from him? He wouldn’t have thought so, but perhaps he’d led a life of some worth to have been granted such a boon by a benevolent power.

Too excited to even make an attempt at a dignified, considered answer, Mycroft blurted out, “I’d love to!” He blushed at his own lack of cool--a commodity he was in want of at the best of times.

Greg’s smile should be bottled and distributed to bring cheer to depressed persons. Mycroft knew that he himself was always cheered and heartened by it. Tonight, however, it had a positively effervescent effect. He was helpless to do anything but smile back, sure he looked foolish, grinning like a maniac. But Greg’s smile, if anything, grew wider in response. 

“How about tomorrow?” Mycroft found himself asking. He had two more days before he was due back at Whitehall, and once there, he was afraid he would fall back into his stolid routine. They’d never go for a walk at that rate.

Greg’s smile dimmed, “Wish I could, but I’m due back at NSY bright and early. Working the next five days. Price I pay for being off so long over Christmas.” He shrugged, “I won’t be off until probably seven, later, if there’s any problems.”

Refusing to be denied, Mycroft looked idly at his feet. He wondered briefly if they were too different, he in his hand-made Italian shoes, Greg in his beat-up blue trainers. Greg with his friends, his nights at the pub, his affectionate extended family. Whereas he was a solitary man, who spent most of his leisure time at home, alone. He did a nimble-footed jig to avoid _ his _ family. 

But. He looked up Greg’s jean-clad legs, over his Arsenal hoody, to his rumpled hair, his hopeful smile. It was the smile that did him in, as it always did. Maybe their lives were different, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t compliment one another, could it? Look at Mummy, abstracted intellectual, absolutely mad about Daddy. Despite being a bumbling gardener with no interest in either mathematics or music, Daddy was equally mad about her. 

“Our walk will have to wait, clearly,” Mycroft said, and Greg’s smile dimmed, going resigned, and understanding. Well that simply wouldn’t do. “Perhaps next weekend, if nothing urgent crops up, we can venture out?”

“Sure,” Greg said, looking as if he were trying to be a good sport. “Yeah.”

“But since I find I don’t wish to wait that long to see you,” Mycroft continued, thrilling when Greg’s head shot up and he looked at him with a growing smile, “I’d like to propose dinner.” He smiled more widely, “Tomorrow night?”

“That...would be great,” Greg said, but bit his lip. “Only problem, I might not be free exactly at seven. Hard to keep to a reservation with my job.” The bitter little twist to his mouth spoke volumes. Mycroft had no doubt the erstwhile Mrs Lestrade had been vocal in her displeasure of Greg’s commitment to his career. It was a complaint he himself had heard in the early days of his career, before he turned his back on relationships.

“I’m quite familiar with the difficulties,” he assured him warmly. “I’m not terribly fond of dining out. I was thinking I could cook for us. Would you object to dinner at mine? Perhaps a _ boeuf bourguignon _ ...that would keep well, if you were detained.”

The look, one of mingled gratitude and relief, that Greg gave him made Mycroft’s heart beat faster. How easy it was to make someone happy! Perhap he should have tried this sooner. But then, no one else was Greg Lestrade. “That would be great, Mycroft,” he said softly, reaching out to touch his fingers to Mycroft’s hand. “I’d...love it, actually. Just you and me.”

Mycroft let out a shaky breath, full to the brim with happiness, “Just you and me,” he repeated softly. How wonderful it was, to contemplate the two of them as a ‘you and me.’

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_ The following Christmas… _

  
  


In the interests of an equitable relationship, they had split their time with their families. The twenty-third and twenty-fourth with Greg’s family (though Mycroft insisted on a hotel room with a proper bed). The twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth with Mycroft’s family (Greg insisted on a hotel room with a hard-to-pick lock between them and Sherlock). 

They happily escaped to Mycroft’s cozy little cottage after that, for four glorious days. Mycroft cooked, Greg helped him work off the calories. They took walks and lazed in bed. Greg played songs on his phone and they danced in their socked feet. Mycroft read aloud, his fingers playing with Greg’s hair as his head rested on his blanket-covered lap. They made love. 

Taking the train back to London, Mycroft fell asleep with his head on Greg’s shoulder. Greg, toying with the shiny new ring on his finger, smiled, and closed his eyes. From friends to lovers to engaged in twelve months...some people would say it was too fast. Greg thought it was perfect. A matter of perspective, really.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a photo Tweeted by Paia and is gifted to her, for being smol but deadly.


End file.
